


hey angel

by vanillabeanniall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Hogwarts AU, M/M, No Smut, Ravenclaw Harry, Slytherin Louis, ive read all the other hogwarts au in this fandom so heres another one, self-indulgent AU, veela Louis, what more could you need tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillabeanniall/pseuds/vanillabeanniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis had first arrived at Hogwarts, he was more of a spectacle than he was now; Harry remembered when he first saw him at the sorting, just as entranced by his beauty as most everyone else. They'd all gone quiet when they saw Louis and his veela genetics, but because he was only one-eighth veela and also because of the natural progression of time, everyone’s infatuation had eventually worn off. Well, for the most part, anyway.</p><p>It had faded a bit with Harry, but the veela effect had never really gone away, and he knew Louis noticed that, though he never voiced his curiosity towards the subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hey angel

**Author's Note:**

> time for another hogwarts au i am super predictable
> 
> shout out to my betas, ella (@spnife) and tati (@tinylouistomlinson)
> 
> im sorry for the title i thought it would be funny for some reason ((taken from one direction's song hey angel (buy made in the am on itunes)))
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own 1d or harry potter, and all copyrights go to their rightful owners.

__I want to write you a song  
One as beautiful as you are sweet  
With just a hint of pain  
For the feeling that I get when you are gone  
I want to write you a song

[I Want to Write You a Song -- One Direction]

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Harry was used to people looking at his best friend as they walked down hallways together. It wasn’t full-on staring or stalkerish following or people making up crazy things to get Louis’ attention, like it had been for his great-grandma, a veela, and it wasn’t people staring from afar before walking up to him and asking for his number in a dreamy tone, like it had been for his grandma, and it wasn’t (often) people staring and blushing when he looked over, or everyone being charmed by everything he said (not usually, anyway), like it had been for his mother. Louis, being ⅛ veela, was now well-used to people’s eyes widening when they see him and their gazes lingering and their cheeks pinking when he caught them, and Harry, being basically attached to Louis by the hip, was used to it as well (but not particularly pleased about it).

 

When Louis had first arrived at Hogwarts, he was more of a spectacle than he was now; Harry remembered when he first saw him at the sorting, just as entranced by his beauty as everyone else (except for the lesbians and straight boys; this had raised some suspicious questions for Eleanor, a second-year girl he had met on the train). Harry remembered watching as the hat hesitated on the boy’s feathery hair (he wanted to touch and see if it was as soft as it looked) before yelling out ‘Slytherin!’ Harry remembered feeling disappointed; he had wanted to be in the same house as this boy so that they could become friends, but he had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Everyone had gone quiet when they saw Louis and his veela genetics, but because he was only one-eighth veela and also because of the natural progression of time, everyone’s infatuation had eventually worn off. Well, for the most part, anyway.

 

At the beginning, Harry had openly stared, even after they became close friends. Harry hung on to every word Louis said, watched them as they formed on his lips, and when they leaned on each other in front of the fireplace with their quickly forming group of friends, Harry had counted every long, dark eyelash over those stunning blue eyes. Harry’s breath would hitch at every bit of golden skin he could see, and he always, always sat next to Louis during meals, usually with Louis’ hand on the small of his back or around his shoulders (and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t shiver at the contact). After years of best-friendship, he no longer developed breathing problems when Louis was close, and he didn’t have to close his eyes every time Louis’ shirt rode up a little and just a sliver of golden skin was revealed. Not that Harry was much better now than he had been; his gaze would always linger on Louis’ back (not to mention that  _ ass _ ) as he walked away, even though Louis didn’t usually catch him watching. Harry always swallowed when Louis got close, and Harry always blushed when Louis complimented him on one thing or another. The veela effect had never really worn off all the way with Harry, and he knew Louis noticed that, even though he never voiced his curiosity towards the subject.

 

Harry had met Louis properly for the first time in the third week of their second year of school, in the potions class the Ravenclaws shared with the Slytherins. He had been paired with Louis to make a simple potion (he didn’t know what it was, it was much more interesting to watch Louis than the Professor. Potions was terribly dull, anyway). It was supposed to be simple, anyway. Louis had accidentally made the potion explode, too busy trying to reanimate their beetles to crush them into a powder and put them in the brew. Predictably, they had failed the assignment and gotten detention together for making a mess of the dungeon. During that detention, amongst soap bubbles and sponges and puddles of freezing water, Harry and Louis became close friends. Underneath all the veela charm, Louis was funny, and clever, and sarcastic, and sweet enough to surpass the cakes and cookies Harry used to help make in his muggle friend’s bakery when he was little. Harry also reckoned that detention was where he began to fall in love with Louis.

 

Of course, he didn’t realize he even had a crush on Louis until the Quidditch cup in fifth year, when Louis had won the game for Slytherin. By catching the snitch less than a meter off the ground off a 150-foot dive straight down. He had pulled off two separate dives already, probably fifty to seventy five feet off the ground to fake out the other seeker, and Harry’s heart had dropped faster than Louis’ beloved broomstick each time. He had seen Louis’ life flash before his eyes (he knew most all of it, anyway, you don’t go three years as someone’s best mate without learning a thing or two about them) at least six separate times throughout the game, causing Zayn to cup his pale cheeks and ask if he was okay, which had somehow lead to Harry having his epiphany.

 

That specific match had lead Harry to a few conclusions. A) He was madly fucking in love with his best friend; B) He needed to do more cardio if he was going to survive being madly fucking in love with said best friend; and C) His life would almost certainly end if Louis’ did, that’s how madly fucking in love he was with his best friend. Which was a little insane, actually, considering he was  _ sixteen fucking years old _ , but it was like he had uncovered a concrete truth inside of the deepest regions of himself, and Harry had no idea how he’d gone so long without realizing that this had nothing to do with fucking  _ veela charms _ and that Louis was it for him. Harry was sixteen and he’d already found his end-all, be-all. And that was pretty shit, considering Louis didn’t think of him as anything more than a little brother, the same as he thought of Niall. Harry didn’t want to be the same as Niall to Louis; he wanted Louis to look at him the same way he looked at Louis, like he hung the fucking stars and moon in the sky.

 

Since the Epiphany, as he, Zayn, Liam, and Niall (the only souls in the school who knew) called it, Harry had done a better job burying his emotions. He hid his  _ thing _ better, or at least he thought. Niall continued to roll his eyes every time Harry blushed at Louis (often), and Liam continued to make a sad little face across the table at him when Louis called Harry his  _ best mate _ (often), and Zayn continued to smirk every time Harry said something positive about Louis (constantly). But, really, Harry’s done a decent job of hiding it since then, he thinks. Either he’d been doing a good job or Louis is the most oblivious fuck in the world. Harry rolls his eyes back at Niall, and looks away from Liam’s sad face, and bites his lip and looks away from Zayn’s smirk. Louis never even notices the other boys’ reactions, which there must be an actual reason for, because Harry just can’t hope that it’s because Louis’ busy trying to hide his own  _ thing _ . Zayn’s always going on about the ‘balance of stupid in this situation’ (he’s such a Ravenclaw), but Harry hasn’t a clue what that’s even supposed to mean, so he just ignores it.

 

He was going to tell him at one point, had even arranged a nice little set-up on top of the Astronomy tower with a nice blanket and pretty candles and even had a rose he had made with his wand, and had even snagged a nice bottle of champagne from the house-elves, all so he could give Louis a beautiful, romantic night under the stars. He had been sitting at the top two minutes before Louis would arrive, everything in place and just waiting, nerves firing and toes tapping, the slight breeze ruffling his curls in a way that was hopefully attractive. He was all ready to confess, was going to tell Louis everything and maybe even get to finally kiss those pink lips and finally see if they were as sharp as the insults that sometimes came out or if they were as soft as the whispered admittances in the nighttime, when he and Harry were curled up somewhere, just before they fell asleep. Harry remembered every single one of those quiet nothings and treasured them as though they had meant as much to Louis as they did to him. He was sitting, thinking all of this and waiting for the boy he loved, when in his place came the silvery light of a familiar hedgehog patronus instead.

 

“ _ Hazza, I’m so sorry, I can’t make it, _ ” Louis’ voice had said. “ _ Eleanor had a bottle of firewhiskey and Stan wants me to help him with his essay and between the two of them, I can’t get away. Sorry, H, maybe we can do it another time, yeah? _ ”

 

The voice had faded away as the patronus dissipated and Harry had blinked away tears. It was fine. It’s not like Louis could have known what Harry was gonna tell him. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe he couldn’t tell him. Maybe he shouldn’t at all. Harry had stood up and left, leaving behind both the setup and his courage to tell Louis.

 

But now it’s their last year, and they’re not even halfway through the damn term, and Harry’s having even more trouble than usual hiding his  _ thing _ . The thing is, Louis came back from vacation all  _ tanned _ and  _ gorgeous _ with his hair longer than it had been, and he’s got just a bit of stubble that Harry honestly just wants to feel on his own jaw (among other places, notably the insides of his thighs), and Harry had grown even more, so now he’s just the  _ perfect _ amount taller than Louis and it’s just so much more difficult for him to not be kissing Louis all the time. And, like, Louis has always been distracting, has always had all of Harry’s attention, but now,  _ now _ , Harry cannot physically look away from him. It’s really becoming a problem; his class notes are a mess, he’s dribbling food at meals, and he’s running into walls almost every day. Niall’s even giving him pitying looks alongside Liam and Zayn every time he receives a failing grade or rubs at a bump on himself from the hard stone walls of the castle. He’s an embarrassment, really, and one of these days he’s going to end up permanently concussed unless he can just  _ get a grip _ .

 

And of course Louis doesn’t notice much more than usual, just assuming it’s his growth spurt and fondly calling him  _ Bambi _ every time he sees him rubbing his head or wherever his latest blunt force trauma is. And the fondness, really, just makes it worse. Even in his classes without Louis, Harry’s a mess. He can’t stop thinking about him, replaying the fond tone and the bemused expression, and his Head of House is going to call him in soon for the dramatic drop in his grades and he can’t exactly tell Professor Flitwick that he’s failing because of his big gay love.

 

And today, Harry’s decided that he needs to get his (academic) shit together (because the emotional shit is the hard part) so he’s sat in the library, attempting to learn everything he’s zoned out of the last three months like the true Ravenclaw he is. Honestly, Harry’s more an art and ‘memorizing stupid facts’ Ravenclaw than an academic scholar Ravenclaw, so it may not do much good, but it’s more useful than being the ‘moody, existential, art Ravenclaw’ like Zayn is. Then again, Zayn is caught up on all his coursework, so…

 

Harry’s studying is going surprisingly well, so far. The pieces of lectures that he caught are making some sense, and there’s nothing to distract him here; just him, the books, and the four candelabras for his homework aesthetic. At the beginning, anyway.

 

Then it becomes him, Louis, and the book that he’s holding up in front of his face in a weak attempt at protecting his suffering grades. He loves Louis, too much really, but he wasn’t just trying to study. Harry was hiding from Louis. He couldn’t see Louis and articulate himself at the same time these days, and sometime in the last month he’d given up and started avoiding him. It must have hurt Louis’ feelings, but there wasn’t anything Harry could do. He felt like the shittiest person on earth sometimes, when he sees Louis acting less exuberant than usual, or the mornings when Louis showed up to breakfast with bags under his eyes or unusually pale skin, but he had to do it. Harry had been in love with him for years now, and if anything was going to happen, it already would’ve. But it hadn’t, and Harry already felt like shit because of that. Seventh year was not starting off as great as he’d hoped.

 

Today’s even worse than usual, even, because he hasn’t talked to Louis in nearly a week. Harry was blaming it on homework and had managed this far, but Louis had finally tracked him down because obviously “come on, Harold, you’re a Ravenclaw, can’t you just whip up a spell that writes all your homework for you so we can go play pranks on Payno, yeah?” He’d been sitting across from Harry silently for a few minutes now, twirling his wand and practically boring holes into the textbook in front of Harry’s face with his eyes.

 

“You haven’t turned a page in nearly three minutes,” Louis commented lightly. “You’re either really shit at studying or not actually reading at all.”

 

Harry bit his lip and turned a page.

 

Louis laughed a little. There was a soft thumping sound, but Harry resolutely kept his eyes trained on the book.

 

Suddenly, Louis’ delicate fingers appeared in the spine and lowered the textbook form Harry’s face, leaving it exposed and only a few inches from Louis’. His breath hitched. Louis was staring right into his eyes, and Harry was watching those blue, blue eyes, those eyes that made his heart stop and grow and burn and weep all at once. Louis was staring at him, with all those eyelashes, those long fairy eyelashes that had to come from his veela blood, and he could see the tops of Louis’ cheekbones, his cheekbones that could cut glass probably, and Harry wanted to nothing more than to cross the distance between them and kiss him, finally. They hadn’t been this close for weeks.

 

Harry sighed and shut his eyes. He didn’t see that flicker of  _ something _ in Louis’ eyes, and he didn’t see him lean infinitesimally closer. Harry sighed. He wished he could stop picturing them kissing. He wished he could stop imagining him leaning just a bit in and finally fitting their lips together in the way he knows would fit just right. He also wishes he knew what it felt like to do that, to slot their lips together perfectly. He wishes he could. Harry doesn’t.

 

He opens his eyes. Louis is possibly even closer than before, still kneeling on the table with his hand holding Harry’s book to the wood. He’s  _ right there _ and he’s staring, eyes darting quickly around as much of Harry’s face as he can take in. He’s staring at Harry, which Harry always finds that weird, thinks every time without fail that it’s weird that Louis, of all people, would stare at  _ him _ ;  _ Louis _ is the pretty one, the one who’s one-eighth veela. Harry’s just one-eighth and seven-eighths normal person. He’s half muggle, even, the son of a witch and muggleborn.

 

He closes his eyes again, thinking that maybe this isn’t even real. Maybe it’s some kind of hallucination induced by tiredness and sadness. He opens his eyes again. Louis’ even closer this time, hardly a few centimeters away. He startles and almost falls from his chair.

 

Louis grabs his arm before he gets too far, though, and Harry stays balanced on his seat. Louis doesn’t let go, though. They sit and just stare quietly for a minute. Louis slowly moves his hand to Harry’s face. Harry can hardly breathe. Louis’ hand rests gently on Harry’s cheek. Harry’s heart is beating so fast and so loud he’s confident the librarian can hear it from across the room. Louis’ finger brushes under his eye.

 

“You got an eyelash there, Curly,” Louis says softly. Harry’s lungs are having trouble again.

 

Then Louis straightens up on his knees. Harry blinks.

 

Louis back off the table and stands up, fixing his uniform where it’s wrinkled. He looks up at Harry.

 

“I’ll let you get back to your studying, then. Sorry for bothering you,” Louis says, still too soft, still with that sad little smile, and he just walks away.

 

Harry blinks at the bookshelves he’d walked between.

 

“Lou?” he whispered, too quietly for the boy’s retreating back to hear him.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Louis shook his head, pushing the heavy wood doors of the library open.

 

Harry was just looking at him, so intensely, like the veela part of Louis was still controlling him.

 

The thing was,  _ everyone _ looked at Louis like Harry just did, to some degree. Because he has veela blood. He’s genetically wired to enchant people, and it works. People look at him like that, though never with the intensity of what Harry just did. Louis bit his lip, ignoring how his eyes suddenly stung a little in the cold air. The thought of his magic making Harry look like that… it makes his insides twist. Louis hates to think that any part of Harry is affected by the eighth of veela taking residence in his blood, but it’s just true. It’s a fact of life for Louis, and it makes his intestines feel cold. Just, for some reason, he really can’t handle the thought that Harry, specifically, is only under his veela power.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

It’s been a month and a half and Harry still isn’t talking to Louis.

 

Louis hates it. He can’t stand being apart for so long; even Liam started to tease him a few weeks ago. Kind, sweethearted Liam, who wouldn’t laugh at a puppy stuck in a cardboard shoebox. But that was two weeks ago, and now even Zayn has stopped mentioning it. Louis’ pretty sure he’s going crazy. He just can’t handle being so separate from Harry, even if Harry himself is the one who inflicted it.

 

He’s seen Harry, yeah, but he hasn’t said a word to him in so long, just staring at Louis with those big, green, stupid eyes, goddamnit, and he misses his best friend so much when he’s right fucking there, sitting next to him at dinner.

 

Louis hates the staring so much. He’s so used to people being stuck on his looks, on his stupid  _ fucking _ veela  _ charms _ or whatever it is. He’s sick of people admiring his fucking looks, and Harry should fucking know better. They’ve been friends for years, and now he just stops talking and just stares? It’s fucking rude, that’s what it is.

 

It’s been so long since he’s gotten to properly hang out with Harry and he fucking hates it. He doesn’t even know why the distance is so suddenly there after just one summer apart, but it makes him want to tear his hair out. Maybe then people won’t see his looks. Louis just wants to forget this whole damn situation, so he does the next best thing to casting  _ obliviate _ on himself: he gets drunk.

 

Louis goes to Niall, because that’s where you go when you need alcohol: your resident Irishman. He sits and whines and maybe sheds a few tears (Niall will never tell), and after what’s probably a few firewhiskeys too many, Niall lifts him up and sends him out the door, still pretty sober even though he drank nearly as much as Louis did.

 

Louis’ walking the halls of the school, with no idea where he’s going except for the vague idea of  _ where he needs to be _ , letting his feet guide him wherever he’s gonna end up. It takes him longer than it should to realize that up is not the correct way to the Slytherin commons, but by then it’s too late and he might as well go all the way up this staircase.

 

It’s a familiar staircase, stone and spiral like many others in the castle, but he has a feeling about this particular one. But in his drunk state of mind, Louis has no idea where he could possibly be. So he just keeps going.

 

As Louis keeps stumbling to wherever it is he’s gonna end up, he continues to think about Harry. He thinks about how tactile they were, until that faded at the beginning of the year. He thinks of how close they were, and the sudden distance between them. He thinks of how he knew everything about Harry, and how he’s now missing a very obvious piece of the puzzle. Every thought leads him back to one thing: Harry’s sudden avoidance. And it’s fucking frustrating, is what it is, because he didn’t even do anything for this! Louis gets angrier and angrier and makes the drunk decision to go demand to Harry what the  _ fuck _ is going on.

 

It’s a good thing, then, that he stumbles into the top of the staircase right then and finds a door with a huge brass knocker that he recognizes. Even in his wasted state, Louis can recognize the Ravenclaw common room door. He pulls the knocker. Unfortunately, he also recognizes the voice that asks him the question.

 

_ What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries? _

 

“What the fuck?” Louis slurs. “I dunno, mate. Just dry the puddle with your fuckin wand.”

 

The door doesn’t open.

 

Louis pouts at it. “But I need to talk to Harry,” he says. “Let me in.”

 

The door stays still.

 

“What the fuck,” Louis mutters. “This is shit. What kind of door doesn’t even have a knob, anyway?”

 

The door stays still, indifferent.

 

“You know what?” Louis says, petulantly putting his hands on his hips. “I don’t even care. I’m gonna sit right here and wait for Harry to let me in.” He sticks out his tongue at the door.

 

The door makes no indication of hearing him.

 

Louis kicks the door weakly. “Ravenclaws are stupid anyway. Riddles are stupid. Why don’t you have a normal fucking password like  _ i love cocks _ or some shit like a normal person.”

 

Louis was admittedly very drunk. He started giggling. The door didn’t join in.

 

Louis slunk to the floor and pouted, crossing his arms on his chest.

 

He sticks out his tongue at the door, and sits some more and waits for Harry fucking Styles to show up. The longer he sits, the angrier he gets at Harry.

 

He’s not there very long, but he’s angry enough when the door opens to Harry asking, “Did I just hear you tell the door you love cocks?”

 

Louis glares at him. “What the fuck do you even want from me, Styles?” he exclaims angrily.

 

Harry freezes.

 

Louis melts. he doesn’t want to scare Harry. Not at all. He walks slowly up to Harry and throws his arms around his neck, holding him tightly. Louis buries his face in Harry’s curls. They’re getting a bit long, he notices faintly.

 

“I just wish people’d like me for more than my stupid face,” he mumbles into Harry’s soft hair.

 

Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, holding him right  back, and whispers quietly, “I wish you could see how much you shine from the inside, Louis.”

 

And it’s such a cheesy thing to say, and it’s so  _ Harry _ , and his hair smells so nice and it’s so wonderful to finally touch Harry like this, to be held by Harry, that Louis just sighs and holds on even tighter. He probably won’t even remember this in the morning, thanks to all the alcohol Niall had fed him, but fuck if he’s going to try his hardest.

 

He stands there, wrapped up in Harry’s arms, with his face buried in his neck and his curls, and it smells so good. It smells like  _ home _ , like them being wrapped up in each other in front of the fire in fourth year, while Niall and Liam bickered in the background about quidditch, but Louis couldn’t even bring himself to care, because he was all warm with a lap full of Harry.

 

Louis stays still, holding Harry and being held right back, warm and safe and secure, and begins to think about it. The more he turns the idea over in his head, the more he realizes that Harry always comes first. Even put against his favorite things -- Harry before quidditch, Harry before going back to his house for the holidays, Harry before alcohol and parties -- Harry is always the first, most important thing. It makes sense to him that Harry would be his  _ most _ , and all of the sudden, something drops in his stomach. Why the fuck even is it that Harry is always first? That’s not fair at all, his whiskey-addled brain thinks. It’s no fair for him to fall in love with anyone, least of all Harry. Because Harry is under a fucking charm, and Louis’ never going to get real, genuine love back. He doesn’t get to fully love Harry the way he’s suddenly feeling a crushing need to.

 

Louis panics and suddenly holds Harry tighter, shaking his head and not letting go for a good ten minutes, when Louis finally starts to breathe again and realizes he has to let go. It feels like some sort of metaphor when he lets go of Harry and steps back a little, keeping his head down. But he’s still too drunk to get into it, so he simply ignores the stinging in his eyes and bites his lip to avoid letting out something stupid, something like a rushed blurt of “I love you, I’ve been in love with you forever,” and strokes a thumb down Harry’s cheekbone, watching it fondly and wishing he’ll be able to remember this moment, if nothing else, come morning, even though he knows he won’t.

 

Louis smiles weakly before turning around and walking slowly down the stairs, and down all the other sets of stairs until he reaches the Slytherin common room, where he crashes onto his bed, falling asleep almost immediately, without knowing that Harry watched him descend, a silent plea on his face for Louis to stay with him.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Harry stays awake for a while, just laying on a sofa in the common room. Louis had been pretty wasted. He briefly wonders if he should’ve walked him back to his common room and turns his face into a pillow, squeezing his eyes shut like that will smash away his love for Louis. His best friend. His best friend who he just unironically and unsarcastically told that he shines from the inside.

 

Harry is pathetic.

 

He sighs, remembering his ban on contact. He can’t handle being around Louis, because this always happens. He ends up running through everything afterwards, evaluating himself for signs of obvious love and Louis for signs of repulsion. He’s pretty sure Louis isn’t repulsed, based on the fifteen minute hug they just shared, which seemed like it had some sort of cosmic significance for some reason. maybe he should’ve continued taking Divination.

 

Harry sighed again. Louis was too perfect. He knew it wasn’t the veela charm talking, and he knew that it was hopeless and unrequited, but by now it was just a fact of life for him, practically an essential part of his being.  _ Hi, I’m Harry Styles, I’m seventeen, I’m a Ravenclaw, and I’m in love with my best friend, Louis Tomlinson _ .

 

Harry sighed and buried his head in the pillow again, blindly groping on the floor for the book he had bought two summers ago. His hand bumped it and he picked it up, blindly running his fingers on the indented title on the front.  _ Veelas and the Modern Society _ . His fingers run along the cover and the spine. He had bought it used, but most of the softening on this book was from his own use. The spine was cracked from the number of times he’d read it, and the pages were soft, with fading ink. He ran his fingers over the paper, feeling the dog-eared page, face still hidden in his blue pillow.

 

But Harry didn’t need to see to know what that was. It was a chapter on love. Other people falling in love with veela, specifically. It was about true love, not just people being affected by the charm. Harry had read it enough to be completely himself that it’s true, he does love Louis. He knew already, of course, but he wanted to know more, to maybe be the most knowledgeable about this part of Louis, almost like he had a part of Louis for himself.

 

Harry sighed and dropped the book. It wasn’t doing him any good, anyway.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Louis wakes up in a few hours, and it’s the middle of the night. He has no idea why he’s up except that he can hear Harry in his head. “ _ I wish you could see how much you shine from the inside, Louis. _ ”

 

And honestly, what the fuck kind of hipster shit is that? He thinks sleepily as he pours himself a glass of water from the jug by the painting next to his bed, enchanting it with an anti-hangover spell Zayn had invented back in fifth year (bless that kid, honestly).

 

Louis downs the cup and crawls back into bed, sliding under the covers and expecting to fall right back into the deep sleep he’d just woken up from, but sleep doesn’t reclaim him. Louis lies there, staring up at the emerald canopy, hidden in the black shadow of the night, and gets restless.

 

He slides out of bed, standing up again, and goes to wander around the common room, hoping to find sleep, maybe hidden in a corner or under a couch cushion. The common room yields nothing, so he slips out, into the dark corridors.

 

Louis shivers a little in the chill, wishing a little bit he’d at least brought a blanket, but doesn’t turn back. The hallways are nice at night, dark and silent and empty, the polar opposite of how they are during the day. Louis aimlessly wanders, looking at sleeping portraits with a blind eye, stuck in his own head. 

 

He’s in love with his best mate.

 

Louis is in love with Harry.

 

Louis is in love with his best friend in the whole world and it fucking sucks.

 

It fucking sucks because he’s one-eighth veela, and even that’s enough for him to enchant people. He’d never be able to be with Harry because it could never be genuine. Harry didn’t even want him as a friend anymore. It was just silly to think that maybe he’d be in  _ love _ with Louis. Maybe in love with his looks, if anything. His heart panged coldly at that. Louis winced. Harry’s words from earlier came back to him, suddenly.  _ I wish you could see how much you shine from the inside _ . Louis sighed and shook his head. He didn’t even know if that was real or if he had been so desperate to hear Harry’s voice that he’d dreamed it.

 

Louis had probably been up and down the same corridor a few times now. He’s pretty sure he’d walked the same one at least three times, but it didn’t really matter. Louis started walking again, down a new hallway and seemingly endless sets of stairs, not being able to bear standing alone with his thoughts.

 

Before he knew it, he was on the seventh floor, and started walking up and down a hallway again.

 

Louis sighed again, thinking of how he just wanted to be at home. He misses the feeling. Louis just wanted to be at home and be  _ safe _ and so he wouldn’t feel so lost and confused.

 

Suddenly, a door appeared out of nowhere next to him, and Louis jumped quite a lot. He steps closer, looking at the door. It was tall and made of dark wood, with a big knocker on it.

 

Louis straightened, realizing where he was. He looked up and down the hallway, realizing that he’d made it all the way to the seventh floor and the Room of Requirement. He pauses, thinking of his train of thought. Maybe the door will take him home. Maybe it’ll take him to his childhood bedroom, and he can see his mum and his sisters. Maybe it’ll just take him to the common room, where we can lay down and try to sleep, leaving all his revelations for tomorrow morning.

 

Louis steps up and slowly pushes the door open, peeking his head in.

 

There’s some couches and an empty fireplace. Louis steps in, slowly closing the door behind him. He stands still as he sees a figure dozing off on one of the couches. As his eyes slowly adjust to the light, he stays still and realizes that -- that’s Harry.

 

Louis takes a small step forward. He quietly walks all the way up to Harry, squatting down and brushing a stray curl off of his forehead. Louis tilts his head. He’d asked for home, and here he was, in the Ravenclaw common room, standing in front of his best friend who he was definitely in love with.

 

He looked down at Harry. So this is what ‘home’ was to him. He smiled softly and shifted, foot bumping into something hard.

 

Louis scoops it up and looks at it in the dim light. It’s a book of some sort…  _ Veela and Modern Society _ . He smiles a bit, not noticing Harry stirring next to him. Louis’ heart speeds up a little as he opens it. Harry had been researching him. He smiles fondly. Of course Harry had. What a Ravenclaw.

 

He flips through the pages until he stumbles across a dog-eared one. Louis tilts it into the light. ‘ _ Veelas and Romantic Relationships: how to tell if someone is under a veela charm or genuinely in love _ ’  reads the title. Louis’ eyes grow wide and he drops the book. He turns to look next to him, at Harry, who’s no longer sleeping, he realizes.

 

Harry’s face is pale, and his eyes are wide and trained at the still-open page in apparent terror. He may not be breathing.

 

Louis’ eyes soften and he sighs. Harry’s eyes snap to him. Again with the staring.

 

“I wish I didn’t have veela blood so you’d just like me for me,” he whispers, the nighttime and darkness making him honest.

 

Harry’s brows furrow and he sits up, leaning in close. One hand goes up to gently cup Louis’ face.

 

“I’d love you even if you had troll blood, you idiot,” he whispered slowly, eyes sparkling with something strong.

 

Louis’ breath caught. He leaned forward to finally slot their lips together, sighing happily into the kiss.

 

They fit perfectly, and Louis smiled into it. He leaned back a bit, giggling when Harry leaned forward for more.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, “just so you know.”

 

Harry grinned, dimples popping, and pecked him on the lips.

 

“The feeling’s mutual.”

 

Louis leaned in for another kiss and sighed happily, probably happier than he’d ever been. He was finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading !
> 
> im on tumblr @vanillabeanniall if youre interested
> 
> also interesting harry potter fact: louis weasley is fleur and bill's son who is also 1/8 veela so that's cool


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